


Beautiful

by Valeria2067



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Formal Attire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 09:29:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock considers the beauty of John Watson, Harry and Clara renew their vows, John makes a heartfelt speech. Did I mention there is a dance floor?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful

On several occasions during his life, Sherlock had heard the term “beautiful” used to describe his person. While he couldn’t say he completely agreed with that assessment, he could understand which of his physical aspects might have attracted the attention; most often it was his unusual eye color, his full lips, his slender physique.

Look at any fashion magazine; you’ll see the same, ad infinitum, he told himself. Banal. Superficial. Boring. It was nothing, he felt, compared to the luminous, the transcendent beauty of Dr. John H. Watson dressed in formal attire.  
John glanced over at Sherlock and smiled warmly. Warm, thought Sherlock. Yes. That smile and those grey-blue eyes produce a measurable, physical warmth. He could feel it spreading through his chest.

“Why do I feel like I’m under an electron microscope right now?” John asked. “Am I being examined?”

“No. Not examined. Admired. Adored.”

“Ogled?” John offered.

“Most assuredly.”

“Damn right,” John laughed.

Sherlock watched John’s Adam’s apple rise and fall against the fine material of the dark shirt and white tie. The white jacket fit John’s shoulders perfectly, and the sleeves elegantly skimmed John’s bicep as he reached across the banquet table to take his champagne flute.

Even the champagne itself brought out the colour of John’s hair – sandy with patches of grey – and his skin: a tawny shade just beginning to hint at pink near the ears and the cheekbones. He could thank the champagne for that. A separate part of Sherlock’s mind began considering the scenarios and variables which would give them the opportunity to consume it more often. Perhaps one day he could even photograph John like this. Or preferably like this minus the lovely clothing.

Sherlock reached out and ran his fingers along the silk scarf tucked under John’s lapels. John’s skin flushed a bit more, and his tongue flicked out across his lips. Sherlock smiled, recalling the way he and John had put that scarf to use a week earlier. Luckily, the cleaners had managed to press out any remaining wrinkles and bite marks.

John took Sherlock’s fingers and pressed them to his lips. Just then, clinking sounds began to ring out from the head table. Conversations all around them gradually quieted.

“That’ll be my cue,” he said, rising from his seat. “Duties of the best man.” He laid a hand on the side of Sherlock’s neck. “Wait here, OK? Don’t disappear somewhere to analyze the chemical breakdown of the hors d’oeuvres.”

Sherlock smiled, crinkling his eyes. “I will find the strength to resist, somehow,” he replied.

“Thanks.” John squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder and walked toward the head table to stand beside Harry. She was raising her glass of ginger ale to him.

Sherlock counted exactly seven women and three men who openly tracked the movements of John’s hips, thighs, and buttocks as he passed them. At least ten others attempted to be more subtle in their appreciation and failed miserably. Sherlock’s lips curved into a half-smile.

At the other end of the room, John cleared his throat and raised his newly-refilled champagne flute. “To Harry and Clara,” he said. “To love that overcomes hardships and differences.” The guests clapped softly. Harry wiped at a tear in the corner of her eye, and Clara linked her arm through her wife’s. John’s gaze travelled toward Sherlock’s table.

“And to love that surprises and overwhelms you,” he swallowed before continuing, “or scares the hell out of you.” A few guests laughed. “To the love that can heal your wounds – even the ones you couldn’t see.” John stopped a moment and looked away, pursing his lips. His eyes were bright and moist when he continued. “To the love that you would happily die to protect. And to the moment when you know that you’ve finally found it…… So…..” he swallowed again, “Just…. All of my best……. Forever. ”

The guests applauded, and a few cheers rang out. Harry pulled her brother to her and kissed him on the cheek. Sherlock saw her chuckle and brush something away from John’s eyes.

He sat at the table, next to John’s empty chair, and he tried to name the sensations sweeping over him. For some reason, he couldn’t. The feelings were…unexpected. Intriguing. Something new.

A tall, burly fellow at the table behind Sherlock’s reached over and clapped him, hard, on the shoulder. “Well done, mate!” he said in a baritone almost as deep as Sherlock’s own. 

A few minutes later, John returned, but he didn’t sit down. He stood behind his empty chair, holding on to the back of it and leaning forward a bit. “Hello again.”

“Hello, John.” Sherlock’s eyes held John’s for several seconds. Neither of them moved or spoke or looked away.

In the background, a slow song had begun playing. Couples were moving onto the dance floor. Soon the the light piano melody they heard was joined by a smooth tenor voice.

_Someday, … when I’m awfully low, …. When the world is cold….. I will feel a glow just thinking of you…._

Sherlock stood up and held out a hand to John. 

_And the way you look….tonight._

John grinned, took Sherlock’s hand, and followed him out onto the dance floor.

_Oh but you’re lovely…._

John couldn’t help looking around and rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Well. This was a first. Not that he’d never considered the idea or anything, just….

Sherlock put his hands on John’s arms. John smiled and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s slender waist.

_With your smile so warm…._

Sherlock moved closer and bent down so that their faces were touching.

_And your cheeks so soft….. there is nothing for me but to love you…._

“Beautiful,” Sherlock whispered. 

_And the way you look…tonight._


End file.
